I travelled among unknown menIn lands beyond the sea;Nor, England, did I know 'til thenWhat love I bore to thee!'Tis past, that melancholy dream -Nor will I quit thy shoreA second time, for I still seemTo love thee more and more.Among thy mountains did I feelThe joy of my desire,And she I cherished turned her wheelBeside an English fire.By mornings showed, by nights concealedThe bowers where Lucy played;And thine, too, is the last green fieldThat Lucy's eye surveyed.She dwelt among the untrodden waysBeside the springs of Dove;A maid whom there were none to praiseAnd very few to love.A violet by a mossy stone,Half hidden from the eye;Fair as a star, when only oneIs shining in the sky.She lived alone, and few could knowWhen Lucy ceased to be;But she is in her grave, and oh!The difference to me!A slumber did my spirit seal;I had no human fears.She seemed a thing that could not feelThe touch of earthly years.No motion has she now, no force;She neither hears nor sees -Rolled round in earth's diurnal courseWith rocks, and stones, and trees.